in blankets of blue
by blank canvas of me
Summary: "All he can see is blue."


**in blankets of blue: **

**(Companion to 'in blankets of red')**

When he was five, he proceeded to tell one of the kids that their drawing wasn't right. Blue was his favorite color, along with grey coming in as a close second. Grey and blue. Grey for Annabeth's steel colored eyes, (though he didn't know her yet and wouldn't for a long time, but when he eventually did, that's what happened) blue for his own personal preferences. His mother loved that color. He started liking it because she merely did, and it eventually grew on him. He loved how the sky always had a different shade of blue, or how an Ocean or lake wasn't even blue, but people pretended that it was. Whenever his classmate drew a picture of water, it was a dark blue. It was a clumsily, scribbled drawing of the beach. It was incorrect, he had said- water wasn't blue. It was a grey color, entangled with small snippets of green. They then cried and went to tattle on the teacher.

When he was six, Sally brought him to Montauk. She told him about his father when he finally grew the courage to ask, and she dismissed it with a dreamy look in her eyes, claiming that he was lost as sea. He didn't truly understand the meaning behind her words, but he decided that he adored his mother's eyes. Always so bright and blue.

When he was seven, his mother threw him a birthday party; there were blue balloon, blue cake, blue streamers...everything blue. Just how she taught him. Just how he loved it.

When he was eight, he came to the realization that blue was the color of sorrow. He always assumed that blue was light and sparkly, like his mother's eyes, but the arrival of his new father put everything in perspective. Blue could be dark. Blue could be dangerous. Blue could be bruises littering someone's body. Blue could be sadness.

When he was nine, Gabe went out of town for a while. His mother was overfilled with satisfaction from his departure, so Sally took him to go pick blueberries. He ate them as he picked, despite his mother's half-hearted lectures to save them until he got home. It bled cobalt.

When he was ten, he picked a blue flower for Sally. His mother was crying more and more lately. He picked a few more, running his thumb over the soft petals. They were indigo colored, much like Sally's eyes these days- dark and tired.

When he was eleven, bruises littered his body. Some of them were green, but most of them were blue. His mother knit him a long sweater to cover them up after she treated them. It was blue and fluffy and fit just right. And when Sally smiled after he thanked her, he couldn't help but notice that her smile was as strained as her eyes were.

When he was twelve, things changed. He noticed that the crestfallen blue was morphing into that same bright color that appeared before Gabe had stepped into the picture. This time, when he saw his mother again, her blue eyes were as sparkly as ever. Her smile wasn't forced- it was bright like the sun.

When he was thirteen, blue wasn't his favorite color anymore. Well, it still was. It always would be. But he couldn't help but think that grey was more beautiful than blue. His hands were trembling as he draped a golden fleece over his dying best friend. She couldn't die. He never saw someone die before. Annabeth Chase, his Wise Girl, especially couldn't die where the water was actually blue. Blue. Grey. He'd rather see Annabeth's grey eyes one more time than ever look at the color blue again. Oddly, he was okay with that. Annabeth shifted in his arms, and she was okay. "You're a genius."

When he was fourteen, he knew what death was. He could taste it. He watched Bianca die. He watched Zoe die. Death was suddenly so real. Death had become his reality. He didn't know what he thought in the past- maybe he assumed that he was invincible, like everyone else, and figured that he would pass on when he was some old fart with a fulfilled, long, happy life. In reality, someone could die any moment. It could be an accident, or intentional, or even the tiniest of mistakes that ripped someone's life away from them. Death was the color of blue. The dark sky was indigo. Zoe resided there now, dwelling and dancing in the stars. Bianca was somewhere- he couldn't see her, but he had to know that she was fine. Blue was the color of death. Thalia's electric blue eyes were stained with tears as she stared at the cliff, the place where Luke Castellan stood moments before. Blue was the color of disappointment as he told Nico of Bianca's sacrifice. Blue...blue was the color of failure. Blue was the color of the weight of the world on his shoulders. And even when he was released from his burden underneath the sky, the blue followed him.

When he was fifteen, Annabeth was cold towards him. Cold and sharp, like ice. She was curt and polite, but her voice was drowned in bitterness and hopelessness. He was irritated by her abrasiveness to Rachel and himself, but couldn't bring himself to call her out on it entirely. It was because her glares and dry smiles...it reminded of him of Luke. And it terrified him. He could see Annabeth's grey eyes lacking their determination. She was slipping. His best friend was growing distant, and he wasn't sure why. Because of Rachel? Or maybe, perhaps, because of Calypso and the time he had spent with the Titan? It didn't seem like Annabeth to grow so enraged over...jealousy, if that's what it even was. It took Percy a long time for everything to click into place. She was _scared_ of losing _him_. Blue was the color of fear and it stung like snow and slashed like ice.

When he was sixteen, the day he turned that dreaded age, his birthday, Percy Jackson was laid to sleep in blankets of blue. A dagger. A small knife laced in poison was the cause of his demise. Something so simple; a slash while his head was turned and directed towards a blonde haired girl who was struggling against five hellhounds. The curse of Achilles hadn't even kept him alive. Somehow, in some way, the odds had turned in Ethan's favor for the last moment. He had spiked the dagger down as Percy's lips opened to call Annabeth's name when the beasts had reached up and clawed her cheek. Blood sprayed from her face, but it was nothing compared to what he would feel a moment later. It was pathetic, really. One small strike and down fell the hero of Olympus. He had trained, he had fought, he had lost sleep over this day, and here was his worst fear coming true.

No. This wasn't his worst one. His worst nightmare, leaked and drizzling with a stormy blue, was the idea that he would lose Annabeth. That they would all die; Grover, Thalia, Nico...everyone that he cared about. The choice that he made would doom them all, not just him. This. _This_. Getting stabbed in his one invulnerable point was something to be glad for. It wouldn't be fast, it would be agonizingly slow, but at least he wouldn't let them all down. He could let go of the blue and embrace a time when it used to be his favorite color. He could hear his name being screamed by multiple campers, but Annabeth's shriek stood out. Her high-pitched, half-strangled plea rose louder than all of theirs, filled with pain. Filled with blue. He sank slowly to the ground. It was like everything was in slow motion- if he hadn't been holding his side so tightly and shuddering with sharp flitters of fire, then maybe he would've cracked a joke about it.

Annabeth was slashing, hacking away at the hellhounds, fighting tooth and nail and trying so hard to get to him. When she finally did, he couldn't talk anymore. He should've felt hot from all the crimson blood that was pooling over him, like a blanket. Instead, he felt cold. Frozen to the core. Numb, as if he had just sat in a bucket of ice water for the past few hours.

The sky. They sky was so blue, streaked with yellow.

Annabeth held him, but he could barely feel her warmth. She was telling him random facts like she was saying the first idea that fell into her mind. Some words were about him. How she loved the way his eyes brightened when he saw something blue (ironic, huh?) or spotted the beach or lake or some source of water. Some words were about which chess piece was the most strategical to use in attempting to take down the Queen. She had tried multiple times to teach Percy how to play the game, but he could never remember which piece was which, and ended up playing checkers instead. When she got to which type of bird species were extinct, his ghost of a smile was a full blown one. He was dying, and here she was spurting out facts like a history book. He knew that she was sobbing and rambling onward because of shock, but it was so _Annabeth_ that it hurt.

"Lay me to sleep," he whispered, his voice a little louder than a gasp. "Lay me to sleep in blankets of blue."

His voice snapped her back to reality, only causing her to cry harder and louder. She nodded, stroking back his black-colored hair and wiping away the pools of sweat on his forehead. They were both completely oblivious to the raging battle around them. Annabeth kissed him then, an 'I love you' coming shortly after, one that he wished he could return, but blood was clouding up in his throat like burning rubber. She pressed her lips to his again, and she tasted like blue. Not the bad blue. The beautiful, sparkling blue. The color of his mother's eyes. The color of blueberries. The color of birthday cake. He blinked, feeling himself slip away. From Annabeth. From the blanket of blue.

Slipping away from the blue and into darkness.

And when he was dead, there was no more bad blue.

Nothing but gold.

* * *

**HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PERCE! I, uh, killed you? Just like I killed Annabeth for her birthday? Oops. I swear, I did not intent to kill them for their birthdays, but I couldn't come up with a happy story for Percy's birthday! And I'm two hours late. It is now the 19th. If you liked this, the companion story is about Annabeth. Reviews, follows, and favorites are greatly appreciated! **


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